


Perfect

by Bitter_Baristas



Series: Spideypool Oneshots [2]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Peter Parker, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Male Slash, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay, Size Kink, Smut, Top Wade Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 02:54:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13801881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitter_Baristas/pseuds/Bitter_Baristas
Summary: Darkness bathes the room, tempered only by the light that slips in from the street lamps outside. It’s not enough light to see Peter’s expression, but Wade has seen it everyday, from across the dinner table and the bed when Peter unabashedly watches him undress, that he knows Peter’s eyes are bursting with love. He can picture those eyebrows, that Peter plucks when he thinks Wade isn’t around, tilting together ever so slightly, his lips closed and smiling.Deadpool wonders why Peter loves him, Peter tells him.





	Perfect

Peter Parker is perfect. To Wade, there is no more true statement. His _boyfriend_ , sweet, giggly Peter is perfection. Spider-Man is perfect, too. Brave, moral compass calibrated, smart, funny. Wade loves Peter, both sides of him, so much it hurts.

He knows Peter has his flaws, but to him that doesn't take away from his perfection. He knew Peter’s personality long before he knew the face. That biting wit, that consuming compassion. Peter’s goodness rivals a saints, and Wade wonders how Peter chooses him.

Him, with his dark past and voices in his head and his _disfigurement_. How can Peter tell him he loves him? How can only earnest affection sparkle in those eyes, staring at him when they make love? Peter could have any one else. Someone on par with his beauty. Someone with smooth, unblemished skin. Someone who doesn’t breakdown when it all becomes _too much._ Peter doesn't have to leave the warmth of their bed in the night to search for him, Queens accent thick with lingering sleep as he calls out for him.

He doesn't have to walk to the kitchen, blanket hanging off his thin shoulders and trailing on the linoleum, sliver of moonlight seeping in through the curtains giving his skin an ethereal glow as he sits beside Wade. Peter gets so little sleep already, between working for Stark and taking online classes and patrolling the city at night. He should be curled up in their bed, blissfully unaware that Wade is trembling on the kitchen floor from a nightmare.

He doesn’t have to. But here he is. Wordlessly Peter drapes the fleece blanket over his shoulder and presses their bodies close together. Offers comfort. Peter is smart and learned early on it was best to let Wade take his time. So he doesn’t ask what the nightmare was about. He simply rests his head on his shoulder, eyes drifting shut as he waits.

The fear that grips Wade relaxes its talons and he manages to take a breath.

“You were gone.” He says numbly. He would rather keep this nightmare to himself, but Peter deserves to know.

He feels Peter nod, quietly thoughtful. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Silence answers him.

Peter accepts that, wraps an arm around him and squeezes. “I have dreams, sometimes. Ones where you leave and just never come back. Sometimes you die, and you don’t…” Wade hears the tears in Peter’s voice and rearranges them so Peter’s in his lap. “But they’re just dreams, Wadepool.”

The nickname, something uniquely Peter, makes a smile flicker on his mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.” Peter promises, deft fingers cupping his cheek and sliding back around his ear, coming to a stop on the nape of his neck. “I’m not going to fall out of love with you one day and you come home to an empty apartment.” Wade winces, and hates how Peter just _knows_ what he has no business knowing. How could the boy--no matter how old Peter gets he will always be a boy to him--trek the bombed out, volatile mess that is his mind? How had he made White and Yellow hibernate?

“I love you, Wade Wilson.”

Darkness bathes the room, tempered only by the light that slips in from the street lamps outside. It’s not enough light to see Peter’s expression, but Wade has seen it everyday, from across the dinner table and the bed when Peter unabashedly watches him undress, that he knows Peter’s eyes are bursting with love. He can picture those eyebrows, that Peter plucks when he thinks Wade isn’t around, tilting together ever so slightly, his lips closed and smiling.

He doesn’t know why Peter chooses to give that look to him, a former mercenary who’s hardly done any good in his life.

He stands with the boy in his arms and goes to their bedroom. Peter snuggles against him, sighs comfortably. He should let his baby boy sleep, lord knew he needed it, but the voices, awakened, or perhaps it’s his own, nag him with a question he’s had since the day Peter asked him to be his boyfriend.

“Why?”

Peter stirs, one eye cracking open. “Why what?”

“Why do you love me?”

Peter props himself up on one arm and looks at him seriously. “It wasn’t love at first sight, did you know that?” He continues before Wade can reply. “I think it was the fourth of fifth time I hung out with you that I knew I loved you.” Fingers skim over his abs. “I loved the way you joked, the way you laughed. You make me laugh so hard I have to pee. And you try to do what’s right. You don’t always do it,” he concedes to the protest on Wade’s tongue. “But you try. And when you look at me I feel like Peter Parker matters. And I…” Peter’s voice catches, and Wade senses there are tears gathering in Peter’s ridiculously long lashes. “I can’t lose you.”

Peter flops down, arm still touching Wade’s but the distance between them suddenly feels vast. “I’m sorry, that’s so selfish. But… I lost Mom and Dad and uncle Ben… I… you won’t…” he finishes pathetically, “leave me.”

The confession makes Peter feel dirty. His mouth tastes of ash. Tears prick his eyes.

Wade draws Peter back to him, warms his chilled skin with his body heat. “Damn right, baby boy. You can’t get rid of me.” He says teasingly. The tension in Peter’s body melts and he clings to Wade.

“I feel lucky to wake up with you in the morning.” Peter says suddenly. “Sometimes I fall asleep and I’m scared I’ll wake up and it will all have been a dream.”

Wade hums, doesn't choke on the sob crawling up his throat. Peter, he forgets, can be so much like him. But Peter is perfect.

He’s everything but. 

He thought he had everything, once. He escaped his father's abuse and made something of himself, albeit that something being a mercenary. He traveled the world, tried to better himself. He found love. Rose-colored glasses love. There was a time when he thought Vanessa was the _one_. If he hadn’t had cancer, hadn’t become Deadpool, he would probably have found domestic bliss with her. That is something he prefers not to think about. 

Vanessa loved him, but now he wonders why. Had she loved him the way he loved her, or had she seen him as her ticket out of the squalor of her life? Thinking that, thinking badly about her, makes guilt twist in his stomach. She missed him when he left her, suffered in his absence. In trying to spare her from the pain of being with a terminally ill boyfriend he caused so much more agony.

What he did to Vanessa remains the thing he regrets most in his life. Not because it ended their relationship, but because it hurt her so tremendously. There was closure in death, and he deprived her of that for a long time. He disappeared. She didn’t know to where or why. He sees, with the perspective of time, he was only protecting himself from his own feelings.

He foolishly thought he could walk back into the life he’d abandoned. In retrospect, he can say he really had been a pretty idiot in those days. 

When he came back she was angry, hurt. He understood. He didn’t ask her forgiveness and she didn’t give it.

He did what he should have done in the beginning. He set her free.

He became a big-name in the mercenary world and jobs took him everywhere. Eventually, they took him to New York, to Spidey.

Peter made him a better person. Loved him at his best and worst. He thinks to himself sometimes that everything was worth it because of Peter. And it’s true. His appearance isn’t all drawbacks. Peter, pure Peter, loves him despite his skin. He didn’t fall in love with a pretty face and waves of blonde hair, he fell in love with Deadpool’s personality. But Peter didn’t just love Deadpool, he loved Wade Wilson too. Insecure, needy Wade Wilson. 

He doesn't deserve the boy, he’ll never deserve him, but for some reason he can’t fathom, he makes Peter happy. And if Peter is happy, he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. His baby boy is the most important thing in the world to him, and even if it’s selfish they’re going to cling to each other like flotsam in a storm.

As long as Peter will have him, he’ll never stray. He’s learned his lesson with leaving people to protect them.

Peter’s breath puffs softly against his chest and into the darkness Wade whispers a confession of his love. Sleepily, Peter mumbles that he loves Wade too, squeezes him and presses a sloppy kiss to his shoulder. In their own ways they are both imperfect, missing parts. Deadpool fills Peter’s empty parts and Peter mends his brokenness. 

When Peter turns to lay on his side, Wade’s body follows.

* * *

They wake up a tangle of limbs, and are both privately relieved to see their lives together are not imagined. 

Peter smiles at Wade, who returns the gesture but averts his gaze. Peter hums, decides that he’s going to show Wade just how much he loves him.

He slides across the mattress, walking two fingers up Wade’s naked stomach. He tilts his head, flutters his eyelashes. He suppresses a sly smile and uses his faux innocent voice. His ‘baby boy’ voice.

“Good morning, Daddy.”

Wade blinks, grin spreading across his face. The action makes affection bloom in Peter’s chest. Wade’s smile makes the ghost of crow's feet around his eyes crinkle, his perfect teeth on display. Pale blue-gray eyes lock on Peter’s brown ones, and the pull Wade has is almost hypnotic.

“Good morning, baby boy.” He purrs, a deep rumble that jars Peter’s bones. It is imprinted on his psyche to sink into that voice, to relinquish himself to it. Already he feels floaty and free, ready to take any instruction Wade gives him.

Peter doesn’t let himself be drawn out to sea, pulled and pushed on the current of Wade’s warm, dark tone. This isn’t about his pleasure.

Wade’s surprise is shown in his widened eyes when Peter kisses him of his own accord, open mouthed and slow. Wade feels himself getting hard from the kiss alone and Peter pulls away, smiling when Wade follows him. “‘M gonna make Daddy feel good.” He proclaims, feeling silly. But Wade groans, flopping flat on the bed, and Peter knows he’s playing the role well.

He straddles the larger man, teasing him with a fleeting kiss before ducking his head to mouth Wade’s neck, furiously sucking a love mark there. He's always been a sweet talker when it comes to Wade, and he takes down the roadblock in his throat, letting all his dirty compliments flow freely.

Wade usually does enough talking for the both of them, but he is uncharacteristically quiet save for his moaning whimpers.

Peter kisses a trail down his torso, lavishing attention on his pectorals. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, scrapes his teeth lightly on the hardened bud.

“ _Baby boy_ …” Wade sighs, writhing beneath him.

“Daddy, can I tell you a secret?” Peter looks at Wade through his lashes, makes his doe eyes go big. Wade eats the act up.

“You can tell Daddy anything.” He says without hesitation, as himself and as the dominating character he plays. Peter allows himself a wicked smile and with some of his super strength pins Wade’s gloriously muscled arms above his head.

“I love Daddy’s arms. So strong and big, you can cradle me with just one of these arms.” He moves one hand from Wade’s wrists and skims the bulge of the man’s arm, pinches the hardness of muscle. “I love your hands.” Peter says, unspoken permission to move the arms he’s pinned. One hand settles on his hip, and he grabs the other one in his two much smaller hands. He kisses the knuckles, a gentle action that makes the warmth of love surge through Wade’s veins.

Peter sits up straight, still stradling Deadpool, still feeling the impressive length and girth against his thigh. He kisses Wade’s palm, not breaking eye contact as he lowers his mouth onto two fingers. He sucks them, swirling his tongue around the digits and pulling off with a wet pop.

He presses Wade’s hand to his slender throat and it clenches automatically, a firm weight that doesn’t constrict his airflow. Peter rolls his hips. Wade’s breathing is heavy now, those blue eyes scrutinizing his every move. Perfect. Peter doesn’t want Wade to miss a moment of the show he’s putting on.

“Love your thighs.” Peter says in a honey sweet voice, moving to settle between thick, sturdy thighs. When Wade hooks his legs around Peter’s shoulders, he isn’t sure if the ex-assassin does it consciously.

He dives, nipping and sucking on a patch of skin on those thighs he loves to sit on when they’re alone. Deadpool isn’t expecting that, and he arches forward, yowling. Peter giggles, too sugar sweet, a darker side of himself he doesn't let come out often emerging.

“Lie down, Daddy. I’ll tell you when it’s your turn to play.” The command leaves no room for debate, but it also isn’t threatening. Peter has half a mind to pause their scene to ask if Deadpool remembers his safe word (jumanji, because no aspect of Wade’s personality is entirely reasonable), but decides against it. If Wade wants to slow down or stop all he has to do is say the word.

Wade lies down, eyes slipping shut. Peter happily goes back to sucking a hickey onto the man’s thigh, thoroughly pleased Deadpool trusts him enough to relax. While they’d done a lot of role playing, Deadpool was always the dominant partner. Peter worried he’d hurt the mercenary with his super strength and they fell into a routine. He enjoyed letting Deadpool ‘rule’ him, and now he wants to return the favor.

His tongue, pink and talented, darts out to lap at Wade’s sac. He sucks at it lightly, moving up to Deadpool’s proudly standing cock. “I love Daddy’s dick.” Peter swallows Wade before the man can offer a witty remark and all that comes out of his parted lips is a gurgle.

This is a role reversal as well. Deadpool is usually the one to blow him, sucking him down with ease, tongue and convulsing throat milking him dry until he lays on their bed languid and shiny with sweat.

Peter’s experience is limited and he does what he’s learned from Deadpool, taking what he can into his mouth and pumping the bottom half in his hand that barely closes around the girth. His tongue has little wiggle room and he can only slide it on the vein that runs along Wade’s shaft, teasing the tip when he pulls up for a gulp of air.

“Daddy loves my mouth.” He whispers, a statement and not a question. It’s clear Wade is on cloud nine, limbs limp and core clenching. Peter is tempted to let the man bask in the glow of resignation and decides to do just that. Shimmying down he takes a steadying breath, grabs ahold of his bravery, and presses his mouth to Deadpool’s tight ring of muscle.

The action earns him a startled cry and the legs on his shoulders clamp down. Peter manhandles Wade, holding his hips in the air at an angle he thinks will help him in his task. He goes back to mouthing the rim, thrusting his tongue inside. His hands wander from Wade’s hips to his ass, leaving the larger man to keep his position using the purchase of Peter’s shoulders alone. Peter inserts one finger to the knuckle, tongue not stopping its probing.

Wade bucks, gives a broken cry. Peter pulls off and slithers back up for a filthy kiss. Tears have left a trail down the sides of Wade’s face, but Peter knows they aren’t from pain or discomfort. He pulls away from the kiss, the string of saliva that connects them breaking when he leans towards the nightstand.

Lube drizzles onto Wade’s cock and Peter lines up the blunt head to his unprepared hole.

“I love it when Daddy’s cock wrecks me.” He pushes down through the burn until his ass is flush against Deadpool’s pelvis. A beautifully wanton cry fills the room and Peter is only vaguely aware the sound hadn’t come from Wade. The slight man can’t move and he doesn’t notice he’s shaking until a familiar, dark voice curls up his spine.

“Baby boy looks so good fucked on my cock.” Wade gives a restrained thrust that is too much. Peter hunches, claws desperately at Wade’s broad shoulders. Two rough thumbs brush away tears he didn’t feel spilling down his cheeks. “Baby boy?” Wade’s voice is softer, the tone he uses to give comfort and reassurance instead of the voice that Peter is helpless but to obey. “Kettle corn?” He asks, hands moving to Peter’s narrow hips, those thumbs stroking the sloping curve of sharp hip bones.

Peter shakes his head, sweaty, curly hair flipping. “No,” he says through gritted teeth.

“I have such a good boy,” Wade drawls, textured hands massaging his waist. “So smart, clever. He knows just what to do to make Daddy happy.” The words aren’t meant to compliment Peter taking him unprepared--they’re going to have a seperate talk about that later--but to give Peter something to focus on. Deadpool’s voice is a lighthouse in a stormy sea and Peter gives a hiccuping sob, teary eyes opening to meet Deadpool’s intense gaze.

“Love you so much.” Peter gasps out, grinding down. A growl rips out of Wade and he jerks up into Peter’s rippling heat. “Love, aaahhhh,” His head lolls, pleasure so intense it’s dizzying. “Love you so much, Wade.” Peter rides the thrusts, hands planting on Deadpool’s shoulders. “Love your scars and boxes and _everything_.”

In a rush of disorienting motion Wade has Peter beneath him, his thrusts not faltering. Peter moans, loops his arms around Wade’s neck and pulls himself up to kiss the man. He’s indulged for a moment, and then he’s pushed flat onto the mattress. Fingers tangle in his hair and yank his head to the side, baring the soft flesh of his throat. Teeth sink in, harsh and painful. It shoves Peter to the edge of oblivion and he teeters there, waiting.

Wade’s fist closes around his straining erection and the coil in his stomach snaps. Wade pounds through his orgasm to his own release, thrusts stuttering as he shoots warmth into Peter. Instead of pulling out he flips them around again, Peter sprawled atop of him and still speared on his cock.

“...Thank you.” Wade murmurs, kissing the crown of Peter’s head. Peter yawns and nuzzles his chest, perfectly content in his arms.

“I meant every word.” Peter promises.

Wade smooths a hand along the line of Peter’s spine. He hears the younger man sigh, feels the air tickle across his skin. Skin that Peter, for some reason he can’t comprehend, isn’t repulsed by.

Wade smiles to himself. He isn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but Peter makes him feel close. 


End file.
